


Simply the First Step

by NotALemon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chaotic Family, Christian Holidays, Christmas Fluff, Christmas at the Burrow (Harry Potter), F/F, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fred/Lee/George is just Fred & George loving Lee together, Fuck JK Rowling, Holiday Sweaters, Holidays With the Family, M/M, Meet the Family, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, The Weasley Clock - Freeform, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28122219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotALemon/pseuds/NotALemon
Summary: “Molly said you were welcome to come to the Burrow for Christmas.” Harry sits next to Draco on the sofa. “She said she’d started on your jumper.”“Are those our Christmas plans?”“I was hoping,” Harry says. He rests his arm on the back of the sofa. Draco nuzzles against his side, book entirely forgotten in his lap. “I think it’s time to start telling people about our relationship.”Draco rubs his Dark Mark. Notrubsas much asscrubs, as if he’s trying to remove the skin. He’s tried, before. It pushes up his sleeve to expose the mark. “Are you sure you want to do that?”“The people worth keeping in my life are the ones that’ll be okay with our relationship,” Harry says.
Relationships: Arthur Weasley/Molly Weasley, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum, Lee Jordan/Fred Weasley/George Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 207





	Simply the First Step

Draco’s never cared for Harry’s dress sense, which is why he steals Harry’s clothes. It’s only for the best, you see. If Harry doesn’t have his ugly, horrible shirts, then he has to wear some of Draco’s (much more fashionable) clothes instead. There are no ulterior motives. 

Except, perhaps, for stealing Harry’s Weasley Christmas jumper.

Draco has always been partial to jumpers, he’ll admit. He prefers turtlenecks, but he isn’t picky when it comes to jumpers. Even though he used to call the Weasley’s jumpers ugly, a jumper is a jumper. They’re surprisingly comfortable. The initial is still tacky. Who wants a big H emblazoned across your chest?

Apparently, Draco. 

His argument is that it’s less tacky to wear someone _else’s_ initial on your chest for the same reason that wearing your boyfriend’s jacket isn’t tacky. It’s cute.

Besides, it’s a comfortable jumper. It’s soft. Molly Weasley knows how to make a good jumper. 

“You have your own jumpers, you know,” Harry says, once Draco comes back home from a coffee shop wearing it. It’s a bitterly cold November. Someone as stick-thin and tall as Draco needs multiple layers to keep warm in this chill.

“I’m stealing your identity,” Draco says, slipping off his coat and scarf. “This is simply the first step.”

“Oh, is it, now?” Harry stretches out on the sofa. 

Draco slides next to him. “Yes,” he says. 

Harry extends his arm, resting it on Draco’s shoulders. “Hm,” he says, flipping through the _Daily Prophet_. “Is this the only reason you started dating me in the first place?” 

“How did you know?” Draco leans into Harry’s side. 

“Always had a hunch. Either you’d try to become me, or kill me. Couldn’t figure out which until now.” Harry pushes up his glasses. 

“What are you going to do, now that you know my plan? Thwart me?”

“You could always ask Molly for a jumper of your own.”

Draco scoffs. “As if I want one of these tacky things for myself.”

“You don’t think it’s tacky when you steal mine,” Harry notes.

“It’s comfortable.” Draco crosses his arms. 

Harry smirks at him. “The sooner you admit you actually enjoy it, the better. I’ve seen you steal them every year.”

Draco scoffs, louder this time. Harry just hums.

“It’s just a jumper. Don’t make it mean something.”

Harry flips the page of his paper. “Maybe I’ll steal yours, then. If you keep stealing mine.”

“As if Molly would even make one for me. The Weasleys don’t like me, remember?”

Harry looks up from his paper to look into Draco’s eyes. “Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“Let’s see, shall we? I’m a Malfoy, a former Death Eater, a Slytherin, an arsehole- the list doesn’t end there, Potter.” Draco presses himself closer to Harry’s side, slouching down so he doesn’t have to look at him. “They have every reason to hate me.”

“So do I, and I still like you. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

“You’re too forgiving for your own good,” Draco says.

Harry brushes Draco’s hair from his forehead. “Not everyone holds grudges.”

Draco’s nose colors pink, though it might still be from the cold. “And if they do still hate me?”

“They won’t.”

“Optimist,” Draco mutters under his breath. 

“No,” Harry says. “I’m being realistic. _You’re_ being a pessimist, though.” He kisses 

Draco’s forehead. “If I told them I was dating you, they’d accept you.”

Draco sighs. “It’s awfully difficult, dating you.”

“Oh? How’s that?”

“Because you’re always so convincing.” Draco curls up against Harry, sighing contentedly. “I suppose we should make a visit to the Burrow then.”

“Yes, yes,” Harry says, running his calloused hand through Draco’s silken hair. 

“I still am dreadfully cold,” Draco mumbles. “Could you warm me up?”

Harry laughs at that. “Then don’t go out for coffee every day in the cold.”

“Dating you _is_ difficult.” 

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t, did I?” Harry closes the paper and sets it aside, standing. 

Draco takes Harry’s hand in his chilled one, allowing Harry to lead him from the living room. Harry’s jumpers aren’t the only thing that keeps him warm, and- in Draco’s most humble opinion- Harry does a much better job, anyway. 

In the end, they’d decided Harry would inform Molly of their relationship alone. Draco said it was because he didn’t want to sour the mood. Harry knew very well that wasn’t the real reason, but he didn’t say anything. Draco has his reasons for everything.

-

Harry apparates over to the Burrow and knocks on the door. Molly greets him with a smile.

“Harry, dear!” She beams at him. “Come in, come in. Would you like anything to drink? Anything to eat? You’re still dreadfully skinny. Are you sure that you’re eating enough?”

Even being in the Burrow- the second home he’d ever had, after Hogwarts, and one that has certainly never tried to kill him before- fills Harry with warmth. Between the homely feeling and Molly’s maternal worrying, he feels right at home.

“I’ve been eating, Molly,” Harry says, a little embarrassed. “Actually, I came here to-”

“Oh, sit down! I’ll fix you some tea.” Molly shoos Harry into a seat at the rickety table and puts the kettle on, summoning a couple cups and saucers. “You should’ve told me you were coming! I haven’t gotten around to doing any cleaning, so you’ll have to mind the mess. The time before Christmas is always so very busy, you know.” She clatters about, preparing their tea, before she turns around and hands Harry a cup. “Now, to what do I owe the visit, Harry? Not that you need one, dear. You can always visit, any time you’d like.” Molly sits in the chair across from Harry.

“It’s about Christmas.” Harry stirs his tea. 

“You’ll be able to come, won’t you, dear?” Molly asks, face falling. “Christmas isn’t the same if everyone isn’t there.”

“No, no, I’ll be coming,” Harry says, quickly. “It’s just that- I’ll be bringing someone, this year.”

Molly’s smile returns, full-force. “That’s absolutely _lovely_ , dear. Would you like me to knit a jumper?”

“Well, it’s…” Harry looks up from his tea, but doesn’t want to look into Molly’s eyes, so he looks at the family clock over her shoulder. Most of the hands are at Work, or even Bed (Harry notices it’s Ron, and smiles to himself at that). He sees his own at Home, further warming his heart. But there’s another hand, also pointed at Work. “Hang on, is that a new hand on the clock?”

Molly turns to look at it. “Well, Harry, dear, that’s-”

Harry stands to get a closer look. The person in the picture is blond, so for a moment, he thinks it could be Fleur, but Bill and Fleur’s hands are both at Holiday. The closer he gets, the more Harry’s convinced that it’s Draco, but that’s… impossible, right?

“Hold on,” he says. “Is this... _Draco_?” Harry gets close enough that the tiny picture of Draco smiles at him softly, then rights himself as he remembers Molly’s presence.

“Yes, it is.” Molly stands at Harry’s side. 

“I…”

Molly rests her hand on his shoulder. “Does it upset you?”

Harry shakes his head, a lump forming in his throat. “How long have you-?”

“Since you graduated Hogwarts.” 

“Nearly all year?”

Molly smiles a little at him. “Well, you’re not exactly the most subtle person, are you? You and Draco started getting close, and Ron said some things that made me wonder… Oh, I should’ve asked, just in case.” She glances over at him. “I thought you’d make a good couple since you retook your last year of Hogwarts together. You’ve always rather liked him a lot, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry says, then swallows. “Draco thinks everyone hates him. That’s why he didn’t want to come today.”

“Well, if he makes you happy, then we’ll like him well enough, won’t we?” Molly squeezes his shoulder. “Draco’s welcome for Christmas, just like everyone else is. I’ve already started on his jumper.”

“You’ve been waiting for me to ask for a while, haven’t you?” Harry smiles at her.

Molly nods a small nod. 

“Does everyone know?”

“Just Arthur, really, though I don’t know about Ron and them.”

Guilt settles in Harry’s stomach, coiled like a dragon. “Ah,” Harry says. “Well, I’ll be bringing Draco to Christmas.”

“We’ll be happy to see him. Do tell him not to be too nervous. That poor boy’s been through a lot, hasn’t he?” 

“Yes,” Harry says, quietly. “We all have.” 

It’s been a long couple of years for everyone. After the war ended, they’d been left to pick up the pieces of their war-torn lives. Children have been orphaned. Lives have been lost. People have been ruined. And somehow, he and Draco had found love.

“Come, let’s sit back down, and you can tell me all about him. I’ve been waiting for this since graduation, dear.” Molly sits at the table, smiling sweetly at Harry and holding her teacup.

-

Draco’s sitting on the sofa, legs crossed and foot jiggling, trying to look engrossed in a book, yet staring over the top at the door. When Harry opens it, he looks down at the book quickly. Harry smiles to himself and takes off his coat. 

“How did it go?” Draco says, as if he doesn’t care.

“Molly said you were welcome to come to the Burrow for Christmas.” Harry sits next to Draco on the sofa. “She said she’d started on your jumper.” 

“Are those our Christmas plans?”

“I was hoping,” Harry says. He rests his arm on the back of the sofa. Draco nuzzles against his side, book entirely forgotten in his lap. “I think it’s time to start telling people about our relationship.”

Draco rubs his Dark Mark. Not _rubs_ as much as _scrubs_ , as if he’s trying to remove the skin. He’s tried, before. It pushes up his sleeve to expose the mark. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“The people worth keeping in my life are the ones that’ll be okay with our relationship,” Harry says.

“You know it’ll be plastered all throughout _The Daily Prophet_ and every tabloid in print, right? Everyone will be talking about us.”

“I’m used to it. Are you?”

Draco, still staring at his Dark Mark, sighs. “I don’t care for it, anymore.”

“It’s the Weasleys. They’re my family.” Harry reaches out to rub his hand against the sharp cut of Draco’s jaw, soft and gentle. He ends at Draco’s pointed chin, guiding his face up to look into his pretty silver eyes. “If you don’t want to tell them, we don’t have to.”

Draco avoids Harry’s eyes. “You’re far too good for me.”

“No,” Harry says. “I’m not.”

“That’s what they’ll say, at the least.”

“I don’t care what anyone says about me _or_ about us.”

Draco folds his hands in his lap. “Are you sure they’ll like me?”

“They’ll love you,” Harry says. “They’ll love you because I do.” 

Under usual circumstances, Draco would’ve made a comment about how sappy Harry is while asking for more words of affirmation. But these are not usual circumstances. 

“I love you, too,” Draco says. He rolls his sleeve back down. “Are you sure Christmas will go well?”

“Of course I am.” Harry pulls Draco closer to him. 

Draco presses his face into Harry’s neck, breathing him in. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.” 

“Don’t be,” Harry says. “It’s alright.”

-

Draco sometimes wonders how Harry talks him into doing these types of things, from trying sushi to going to nightclubs to- well, this. Harry holds onto Draco’s hand outside the Burrow, both of them having apparated in front of the door. 

“Are you ready?”

“Do you have to ask?” Draco looks pale, and not in his typical _pale and sculpted like a marble statue_ way. It’s more of an _I’m about to get sick_ pale. 

“If you’re worried they still hate you-”

“Even if they don’t-”

“They don’t,” Harry says. He squeezes Draco’s hand tightly. 

“It doesn’t mean they _like_ me.” Draco stares straight ahead, at the threadbare but sturdy wooden door. “We could leave,” he suggests. “There’s still enough time to-”

The door opens, and they’re greeted by the beaming, plump face of Molly Weasley.

“Harry, dear! Come in!” Molly moves aside, ushering Harry and Draco in. “Almost everyone’s here!” She leads them to the living room. 

Draco looks at Harry with pure terror written across his face.

"You'll be alright," Harry whispers, squeezing Draco's hand again. "No one's going to be cross with you."

Draco takes in a breath and nods. He shifts his face into a look of unimpressed boredom, his neutral face. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s holding Harry’s hand like he’s about to shatter his bones and standing as straight as physically possible, he wouldn’t look anything other than coolly dignified. 

The living room is crowded with the Weasleys and their respective partners. 

Ron comes in with a butterbeer. “Harry! Bloody hell, I was worried you weren’t gonna come.” He looks at Draco. “See you’ve brought Malfoy. Good for you, bringing ‘im. Prob’ly needs some time out in the real world.” 

“Well, I definitely ought to, since he’s my boyfriend and all.”

Ron hardly blinks before slinging his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Ah, so you two _finally_ got together. And I thought it was never gonna happen!” 

“Hey, good for you, Harry!” Fred says. 

“We thought you’d _never_ solve your weird sexual tension,” George adds.

“Ron owes me seven Sickles.”

“Seven? He only bet me three!” 

“Three?” Fred covers his heart with a hand. “My dear Ronniekins, you’re trying to cheat our dearest Georgie out of his due!”

Lee, seated between them, shakes his head. 

Ron rubs the back of his neck, nervous.

“You made bets about us?” Harry elbows Ron’s side. “Nice way to try making money, isn’t it?”

“Only if you’re right,” Ron grumbles.

“We’re very proud of you, Harry,” Percy says, as if he’s Harry’s father. 

Harry furrows his brow. “Hang on,” he says. “Is that Oliver Wood?”

Oliver waves cheerily. “Happy Christmas, Harry!” 

“Yes,” Percy says. “This’s my boyfriend, Oliver.”

“Heard you weren’t thinking about doing professional Quidditch,” Oliver says. “All that wasted potential!” 

Percy shakes his head at that. 

“Erm,” Harry says. 

“Don’t worry about him,” George says. 

“Yeah, he’s been on our case all day for not wanting to become professional beaters,” Fred adds.

“Dunno what he’s talking about, really. I think we’re quite near professional beaters.” George makes a crude hand gesture.

“George!” Molly chastises. 

“He’s not George,” Fred insists.

“Oh, not this again! I can tell you apart, you know.” Molly points at Fred with a cake batter-covered spoon. “ _You’re_ Fred.” She points at George. “ _You’re_ George. And _both_ of you ought to behave today!”

Draco awkwardly clings to Harry’s side, glancing around the room. “You’re missing some people,” he observes.

“Ginny and Luna are visiting Luna’s father. Bill and Fleur are at her parents’. Hermione’s at Viktor’s. Charlie will be here shortly.” Molly continues stirring her bowl of cake batter. “Now, I want for everyone to be _decent_ this year.” She points at the twins. “Lee, I trust you to keep them in line.”

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley,” Lee says, politely.

“That’s Molly to you,” she says, sharp but loving, turning back to go into the kitchen. 

George mumbles something about Lee keeping them in a line.

“ _Boys_!” Molly turns around again to glare at Fred and George, positively venomous. 

“Sorry,” they mutter.

“And Harry, dear, feel free to sit down and get comfortable with Draco,” Molly says, sweet as can be with her adopted son.

Harry nods obediently, finding a spare place near Percy and Oliver on the couch and ushering Draco to sit next to him. Ron sits between Harry and Percy. 

With that, Molly leaves the room to go back to the kitchen. 

“Your mum is terrifying, Perce,” Oliver mumbles. 

“Only when the twins bother her,” Percy says. He lays his hand on top of Oliver’s with only a little hesitancy. 

Draco crosses his legs, unsure of how to best make himself comfortable. Really, the entire situation makes him uncomfortable.

“So, how’d you end up dating our beloved Harry?” Fred leans over Lee to get a better look at Draco.

“We-”

“And be _very_ careful about how you answer that. Money’s involved.” George throws his arm around Lee’s shoulder. 

“We’ve all got money in the game,” Fred says, mirroring his brother’s action to wrap his own arm around Lee.

“Someone needs to tell Ginny!” George says. “How much’d she bet, again?”

“At _least_ enough for a few Pygmy Puffs,” Fred reminds.

“At _least_ ,” George agrees. 

Lee just grins. “It’s quite the Christmas, isn’t it?”

“It’s rude to place monetary value on someone’s relationship status,” Percy says, sounding as if he’s winding up for another long-winded speech.

“Shut up, Perce,” Ron says. He drinks from his butterbeer.

“Yeah, Perce,” Fred says. “Shut _up_.”

Percy goes a little red at the tips of his ears. 

Harry looks over to Draco, who quite frankly looks overwhelmed under all his fabricated disinterest. 

“Sorry,” Harry says. “I should’ve warned you that it’s a little… intense.” 

“My family’s holidays were far less… chaotic,” Draco replies. “We mostly sat in silence and drank wine.” 

Ron looks at Draco. “Bloody hell,” he says. “No wonder you left ‘em as soon as you could.” 

Draco turns to Ron with a sharp look. “I didn’t choose to leave my family,” he says. “My father disowned me.” 

“Bloody hell. Sorry, mate. I didn’t know.” Ron rubs the back of his neck, apologetic. 

Everyone shifts uncomfortably. Draco exhales from his nose. 

The fireplace glows green with floo powder. Out emerges Ginny and Luna.

“Hello everyone! Sorry we’re late!” Ginny grins at them all. “Harry! You brought Draco!”

Luna smiles dreamily. “Hello, Harry.”

“Hi, Luna,” Harry says. “Yes, I brought Draco.”

“So, when did you two get together?” Ginny bounces on the balls of her feet, always so full of energy. The Weasleys are all energetic like that. It’s part of why Harry likes them: they’re always doing something, bustling about their house, playing games, shouting over each other. 

“Ginny…,” Percy warns.

Ron leans forwards. “He’s been on our cases about the bets,” he stage-whispers. 

Ginny just rolls her eyes. “I’ll collect my dues later,” she says back in a stage whisper. 

“You two make a wonderful couple,” Luna says. 

“Thank you.” Harry turns to Draco. “Can I kiss your cheek?”

“You may,” Draco permits. 

Harry kisses his sharp cheekbone lightly. Draco bites the inside of his lip and goes just the slightest bit pink. 

“Very, very wonderful. Be careful, this time of the year. There’re Nargles in the mistletoe.” Luna looks at Harry and Draco with her pretty, wide eyes. “Try not to kiss underneath it.”

“We won’t,” Harry says.

Ginny chooses to sit closest to the twins, Luna at her side. 

“What are Nargles?” Draco whispers. 

“They’re- well, they’re tiny creatures that live in mistletoe,” Harry says, feeling a touch stupid. But at the same time, it’s something Luna believes fully in, and he loves her and her friendship dearly. 

“And... what do they do?” Draco asks. 

Harry furrows his brow. “Erm. I don’t really know, honestly. They’re just not good if they fall on you.”

Draco nods, glancing over at Luna. She’s speaking to the twins animatedly in that dreamy way of hers. Then he looks at Ron. “Weasley,” he says, then looks around the room at the rest of the Weasleys. “Ron,” he corrects himself. “Do you happen to know where the butterbeers are?”

“In the kitchen,” Ron says. “Would you guys mind grabbing another for me?”

“Of course,” Harry says. He stands and shows Draco into the kitchen. Butterbeers and other assorted spirits rest in the sink. 

Molly looks at them. “Have you boys been enjoying yourselves?”

Harry looks to Draco.

“I’ve never had a holiday like this,” Draco says. 

“Oh, poor dear,” Molly says, getting that maternal, worried look. “Is it a lot?”

Draco looks to Harry. “A little,” he admits. 

“Well, you can _always_ leave for a second to have a moment to yourself. I know my children can be a bit much to handle.” Molly opens the oven to check on her cake. “Make sure Ron doesn’t have too many butterbeers. He tends to get a little belligerent when he has too much to drink.” 

“Right,” Harry says. 

“Draco, dear, _do_ make sure to make yourself comfortable.” Molly opens up a pot atop the stove. The smell of cooking meat fills the kitchen. 

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Please, call me Molly.” Molly covers the pot back up, satisfied with the progress. 

“Yes, Molly,” Draco says, though he sounds like he has to choke out her name. “I’m not used to the informalities,” he apologizes.

Molly’s brow furrows. She says nothing, but Harry and Draco know that she’s silently judging the Malfoys. Harry can’t blame her; he’s done the same, often. Especially when Harry reaches out for Draco and he flinches, or when Harry tells Draco he loves him and Draco looks at him like he’s expecting something unpleasant to come after. Harry’s also aware he used to be that way: terrified to call Molly by her first name, used to formalities and not speaking at all.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Molly says, carefully and lovingly shooing them away. “Go ahead and have a good time.” 

“Yes, Molly,” Draco says. 

Harry picks up a few butterbeers. He hands Draco one and walks back into the living room with the other two. 

“Thanks, mate,” Ron says, taking his from Harry.

“I think Draco and I’ll go on a walk,” Harry says. “He’s never been here before.”

“Make sure you take him out behind the shed,” George says. 

Fred grins. “Yeah. Lee and I’ve gone back there and-”

“Remember what mum said about being decent,” Percy chastices.

“Funny. I don’t think you were thinking about being decent when you and Oliver were-”

Percy goes red all over. “ _George_ ,” he hisses. “I’d rather you _not_ bring this up at our _family Christmas_.”

“If you didn’t want us to mention it, then maybe you shouldn’t’ve done it in the Burrow,” Fred suggests. “We all hear everything, you know.”

“ _All_ the time,” George adds.

“As if you and Lee don’t get up to the same things!” Percy shrinks into his jumper. 

“Which one of us?” George grins wickedly.

“If you weren’t sure, there _are_ two of us.” Fred stretches out, pressing himself against Lee’s side. 

“Hey, Perce,” Fred says. “Which one of you’s on the top? I reckon it’d be Oliver, right?”

Percy goes an even darker shade of red. “This really isn’t something to discuss at-”

“Bets on, right here.” George smirks at Percy. “Five Sickles Oliver’s on top.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” Ron suggests, also flushed in embarrassment.

“Aww, Ronniekins, we’re just having fun! Right, Perce?” Fred looks to Percy, now a very impressive maroon color.

“How d’you do it? Hm? Lee and I, we like-”

“George!” 

“We should get going,” Harry says to Draco. “You really don’t want to see them fight.”

“No,” Draco says. “I don’t.”

Harry takes him out the door they came in. Draco breathes in the chilled air and opens his butterbeer, exhaling a cloud of hot air.

“They’re a very… colorful family,” Draco says, after a swig. He leans into Harry’s side, seeking his warmth. “This is far different from any holiday I’ve ever had with my family. We don’t talk about intimate matters.”

“Fred and George like doing anything they can to upset Percy,” Harry explains. He opens his own butterbeer. “We don’t normally discuss this sort of stuff.”

“I see.”

“Are you having a good time? We can leave, if you don’t like it.”

Draco shakes his head. “No. I’m enjoying myself.”

“That’s good.” Harry leads Draco around the lawn. There’s something beautiful about the dreary, half-melted British Christmas when it’s at the Burrow. Harry admires Draco in the weak sunlight. He’s beautiful, really. Harry’s been aware that Draco is handsome for years, but he’s still stunned by his boyfriend’s beauty.

“What’re you staring at, Potter?” 

“Some wanker I picked off the street,” Harry answers drily.

Draco scoffs and drinks his butterbeer. “You wish you could find someone like me on the street,” he snarks back, equally as dry.

“Mm,” Harry replies. He leans over to kiss Draco. His lips taste like butterbeer and mint.

“Are you going to take me behind that shed?” Draco asks playfully. 

Harry laughs at that. “I’m pretty sure you don’t want me to defile you behind a shed in _this_ slush, Malfoy. You’ve got standards, haven’t you?” 

Draco leans in to kiss Harry back, smiling against his lips. “Isn’t it a tradition?”

“No,” Harry says. “Unless you’re the twins.”

“Percy sounds like he gets up to a lot,” Draco says. “For a Prefect.”

“ _You_ get up to a lot, for a Prefect,” Harry says. “And I’d rather you not mention Percy’s sex life. I didn’t know he even _had_ one ‘til today. He’s my brother.” 

Draco leans in for another kiss. “It’s awfully cold out here,” he says.

“We can go back inside.”

“As much as I’d like to see the Weasleys fight in the living room, I don’t think I’d like to see Mrs. Weasley get angry at them.”

Harry nods. “It’s terrifying.”

Draco goes quiet for a second. “I don’t like it when people shout,” he says, after the pause. Getting Draco to be candid has been a struggle. It’s been just as much of a struggle for Harry to be candid and honest, as well, but he’s been doing it for longer than Draco has. 

“We can stay out here for a while,” Harry suggests. “Getting away from all the people… it’s nice, isn’t it?”

Draco stops walking to lean against Harry’s side. Harry wraps his arm around Draco’s shoulder, pulling him close. “This is the nicest Christmas I’ve had in a while.”

“Wait ‘til everyone gets here. It gets far better.” Harry kisses Draco’s cheekbone lightly. “Thank you for coming.”

“Hm. It’s something important to you. If… If my father still wanted me around, I would’ve asked you to go to my Christmas.” Draco leans his head on Harry’s shoulder. 

“I would’ve gone to your Christmas. Your mother’s a wonderful woman.”

“She and my father are splitting up,” Draco says. This is the honesty they’ve been working on. “She owled me the other day.”

“We could go see her,” Harry suggests. “I have a feeling Molly is going to take a while with the twins.”

Almost at that moment, they hear Molly’s shrill screams from inside the Burrow, making it sound more like the Shrieking Shack. Draco shrinks against Harry’s side, a ball of dark clothes and blond hair.

“Could we?” Draco asks, polite but rushed.

“Where is she?”

“She’s in a room at the Leaky Cauldron.” 

“We can visit, if you’d like.”

Draco pauses. “Can we?” he asks, hopeful.

“Of course.”

Draco smiles, so brightly Harry could light the night sky with it. When Draco is happy, he rivals the sun. “I’d like that.” 

-

They apparate into the Leaky Cauldron and ask for Narcissa Black (it’s Draco’s idea to use her maiden name, brilliant Draco). After getting her room number, they travel up to it. Draco takes a moment to steady himself before knocking.

“She’ll be happy to see you,” Harry says. 

“What if she’s upset?” Draco asks, terrified.

“Why? Because you went against Voldemort?” Harry shakes his head. “She went against Voldemort, as well. She saved my life.” 

Draco breathes deeply, still a nervous wreck (speaking for Draco- he never gets as nervous as anyone else seems to, used to pushing it down to keep up a cool face). “Right,” he says. He knocks on the door.

“I’ve said I don’t need housekeeping today, thanks,” a woman says from inside.

Draco knocks again. 

“No thank you,” Narcissa says.

“I think you might want to answer this,” Harry says.

There’s muffled muttering from within the room and footsteps approaching the door. “If this is someone for Lucius, I’m uninterested.”

Draco clears his throat. “It’s Draco,” he says, voice coming out soft and small.

The door opens. Narcissa peers out, looking less like her usual well-kept self, haggard in appearance and exhausted. Her face fills with joy upon seeing her son’s face. “Draco! You should’ve told me you were coming. I would’ve…” She smiles at him brilliantly, reaching out for a hug. Draco hugs his mother for the first time in more than a year, shuddering as though holding in sobs. 

“I wasn’t expecting anyone for Christmas,” Narcissa says.

“I missed you,” Draco tells her, voice trembling.

They stand there, embracing as mother and son. Harry wonders what it was like to grow up with a mother. Molly is a lovely surrogate mother, but he wishes he had grown up with a mother like his friends and Draco had. Those formative childhood years with a mother didn’t happen. They happened in his teens. He had Petunia and his childhood of abuse instead. 

Narcissa pulls away. “Hello, Harry,” she says with a smile. 

“Hello, Narcissa.”

She holds out her arms, more like a question than a demand. Harry hugs her. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, because he never felt like he’d thanked her enough when she’d saved him. He probably never could. As far as he’s concerned, there will never be a way to thank her enough for what she’s done for him; he has so many debts to people that he will never be able to repay, so many people who have died for him and sacrificed everything for him. There are people he will never be able to thank properly. He continues to profusely thank those he can. It’s the least he can do, in his opinion.

“Of course,” she whispers back, before she lets go. 

Draco reaches out to hold Harry’s hand. “Mother,” he says, voice weighted with meaning and shaking with nerves. “You should know that Harry and I are dating.”

Narcissa raises her eyebrows, but smiles regardless. “I’m happy you’ve found someone,” she says. “I’d always thought- you talked so much about him, when you were younger. ‘Harry Potter and his stupid green eyes and scar. Oh, how I hate him, mother’.” She brushes hair from Draco’s forehead with a tenderness that makes Harry ache. 

“Mother…” Draco looks away, embarrassed.

“I talked about him nearly as much,” Harry says, light and joking. “‘Draco’s eating a different thing for breakfast today’. Or, ‘Draco must’ve gotten a haircut over Christmas’. Or, ‘there must be something wrong with him, because he hasn’t insulted me today’.” 

“Young love is always interesting before you realize it’s love,” Narcissa says, fondly and with minimal bitterness. She moves aside to allow Draco and Harry into her room. 

The time Harry and Draco spend with Narcissa makes Harry ache for the Christmas memories he might have had with his mother, or the ones he does have with Molly and the rest of the Weasleys. 

They leave with a tearful promise from Draco to Narcissa that he will visit.

“Thank you,” Draco mutters to Harry.

“She’s your mum,” Harry says. “Of course I’d want you to see her.”

-

They apparate back to the Burrow. Once Harry lets them in through the door, they’re greeted with perhaps more yelling than before.

“Christ, Charlie!” Fred says, George and Lee howling with laughter beside him on the couch. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen!”

“ _Fred_!” Molly chastises, loudly. “Do _not_ encourage this!”

“Mum, it’s just a little one!” Charlie insists, back turned to Draco and Harry, showing his family something.

“I’ve never seen one of ‘em up close,” Oliver says, interested. 

“You get used to ‘em when you’re in Romania.” Charlie says, continuing to show his family whatever they’re fussing about. 

“Hey, Harry! Check this out!” George yells.

Charlie turns around, a bright blue Swedish Short-Snout in a festive onesie in his arms. Harry nearly lunges himself in front of Draco, memories of his encounter with the Hungarian Horntail fresh in his mind. Though he’s aware that using himself as a human shield isn’t necessarily going to save Draco at all.

“Charlie! That’s a _dragon_! _Not_ a toy!” Molly yells.

“Her name’s Svelte,” Charlie says. “She’s the most well-behaved girl we have, and she would’ve been _so_ sad if I’d left her all alone, mum. She loves me.”

Molly looks like she’s about to take Charlie outside and show him that _she’s_ the one he needs to worry about. Bill’s drinking a butterbeer, nonplussed like this has happened a thousand times before. Fleur next to him staring at baby Svelte like it brings her memories of the Triwizard tournament as well. 

Ron pops around from the kitchen. “Oi, then, you two! Bloody hell, we’ve been looking ‘round for you _forever_. Hermionie’s here with Krum in the kitchen, if you wanna…” Ron nods towards the scene in front of them, Molly yelling at her second oldest child for bringing a baby dragon home for Christmas.

Draco drags Harry into the kitchen just as Arthur begins chastising the boys alongside Molly.

“Oh, Draco! How nice to see you here.” Hermione smiles at Draco. “You remember Viktor, right?”

Viktor, who is not as awkward-looking now as he was in their teenage years, smiles at Draco. He’s grown more into himself, as they all have. “You are Draco Malfoy, of the Slytherins.”

“Hello again,” Draco says.

Ron hands them both a butterbeer. “Charlie just came in with- with _Svelte_ , so… this’s recent. It was going _great_ , ‘til _that_ happened. So… happy Christmas.” He toasts with his own butterbeer, half-full. Harry and Hermione join in.

After a long drink of butterbeer, Ron grins at Harry and Hermione.

“D’you reckon Charlie’ll have to de-Gnome the garden now?” 

Harry shakes his head, a smile on his face. “Hopefully. God, I hate Gnomes.”

“You don’t have… house elves to do that sort of work?” Draco asks.

Ron glances at Hermione, ready to inch away at the mention of _house elves _. Hermione straightens her posture, adopting her Ministry of Magic persona for a moment. She’s always been the scariest of the three of them, absolutely terrifying when she’s angry.__

__“Oh, you’ve done it now,” Harry says to Draco, elbowing his side._ _

__“ _Honestly_ , profiting off the free labor of oppressed minorities is _barbaric_. Would _you_ force Harry and I to work without pay or compensation?”_ _

__“‘Mione, he just doesn’t _know_ ,” Ron says. “C’mon, it’s _Christmas_. Let him off easy.”_ _

__Draco looks between Hermione and the doorway where Molly is screeching about the dragon, not looking like he knows which one of them he’d rather face._ _

__“Just because it’s Christmas doesn’t mean that we can’t have important discussions over workers’ rights. It was just this behavior that had muggle children dying during the Industrial Revolution, Ron.” She takes a pull of her butterbeer. “I’ll allow it, though. Since it _is_ Christmas.”_ _

__Draco looks relieved at that._ _

__Hermione glances through the doorway to the living room. “It seems like your mum’s cooling down, Ron, if you’d like to risk it.”_ _

__The tips of Ron’s ears go red. “I’m _not_ getting in trouble ‘cuz I breathed wrong ‘cuz mum’s pissed Charlie brought home a _dragon_ for Christmas. An’ it’s just a little one, too! Don’t know what she’s so mad ‘bout.”_ _

__“Dragons are not fun,” Viktor says, stroking his beard. “Are you scared?”_ _

__Ron shakes his head, much more comfortable around Viktor than when he was younger. His awkward teenage crush has dissipated into a more casual admiration, a polite and functional friendship. “Charlie knows how to deal with ‘em. He _works_ with ‘em,” he mutters._ _

__Hermione lays her head on Viktor’s shoulder, casual and comfortable. “We really ought to go in there with the rest of your family. It _is_ Christmas, after all. It’s best spent with family, isn’t it?”_ _

__“If _you_ want to deal with her, then _you_ can go in first,” Ron says. _ _

__“Honestly, Ron, you act as though she’s some sort of- sort of _monster_ , or something. She’s your _mother_.” Hermione strides out of the kitchen and into the living room with the rest of the Weasleys, Viktor following behind her._ _

__“She’s always been mental, hasn’t she?” Ron asks Harry, shaking his head._ _

__“Better go save her, then. Before she walks into something she can’t get out of.”_ _

__“One of these days, she’s gonna have to listen to me.” Ron walks after Hermione and Viktor._ _

__Harry turns to Draco. “Sorry about that. They can be a little… Draco?”_ _

__Draco isn’t paying attention to Harry, instead halfway to the clock on the wall. “What is this?” he asks, voice soft._ _

__“Oh, that?” Harry asks. “That’s the Weasley clock. Molly uses it to keep track of all of us.” He walks behind Draco. It caught his attention, too, the first time he’d seen it. Now, it is a perfectly normal part of the house. “Everyone has their own spoon. See?”_ _

__Draco stands directly in front of the clock. “Harry,” he says, full of hushed wonder. “Harry, is that- me?”_ _

__Harry remembers, at that moment, that Draco had been added to the clock. “Erm,” he says. “Yes. Yes, it is.”_ _

__“Does that mean that Mrs. Weasley-”_ _

__“Molly,” Harry corrects. “She wants all of us to call her Molly.”_ _

__“Molly,” Draco corrects himself. “Does that mean that Molly- she considers me family?”_ _

__“Well, you are my boyfriend, aren’t you?” Harry asks, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and laying his head on Draco’s shoulder. “She knows I fancy you rather a lot, you prat, and she added your spoon. She made you a- well, she wouldn’t want me to spoil it.”_ _

__“She made me a jumper?” Draco asks. “That wasn’t a joke?”_ _

__“Of course not,” Harry says. “Don’t be daft.”_ _

__“Excuse me for not believing that the mother of the children I terrorized when I was younger would care for me much.” Draco flicks Harry’s nose. Then his voice softens. “They like me. Your family- they like me.”_ _

__“Of course they do, Draco. Who wouldn’t?”_ _

__“I could give you a list,” Draco says. “There are quite a few people who want me dead, Potter.”_ _

__“I don’t,” Harry says. “And neither do my- do the Weasleys.”_ _

__Draco suppresses a smile. “Thank you,” he says, “for bringing me to your Christmas.”_ _

__“It wouldn’t be the same, without you.” Harry rubs his thumb against Draco’s jumper. “I told you that they would love you. They love you, because I love you.”_ _

__Draco presses a quick kiss to Harry’s temple. “I love you, too.”_ _

__“Molly will be worrying about us if we don’t join everyone.”_ _

__Draco lays his hand over Harry’s, smirking. “I’d love to see the aftermath of the dragon incident.”_ _

**Author's Note:**

> I might be Jewish but dammit if Harry Potter Christmas stuff doesn't make me Soft. I also wrote the bulk of this last year but that doesn't matter much.


End file.
